


I'm still here

by peterparkr



Series: Febuwhump 2020 [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ADVENTURE!, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pirates, Treasure Planet AU, Whump, dont mind me, febuwhump 2020, i just really love treasure planet, sprinkling in the word lost a few times to loosely connect this to the prompt, treasure!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22516552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterparkr/pseuds/peterparkr
Summary: A dying man gives Peter a map and he finds himself on a treasure hunt across the galaxy.ORA Treasure Planet AU (Febuwhump Day 1: Lost)
Relationships: Carol Danvers/James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Febuwhump 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620064
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	I'm still here

**Author's Note:**

> Me, circa two weeks ago, a fool: I can write a treasure planet au in 5k words or less!

“Please, May,” Peter begs. “One more time.” 

“You were supposed to be asleep hours ago.”

“Please.” He presses his lips into a frown and makes his eyes as wide as they’ll go. “I can’t go to sleep unless I hear it again.”

May sighs and sits back down next to Peter, opening the book. “This is the _last_ time.”

“Yes,” Peter whispers, snuggling up to May so that he can follow along over her shoulder.

She starts to read. Peter can practically see the ships flying off the page. He longs to sail one, just like his parents. They had been spacers—some of the best. That’s what his uncle told him. 

“And then the pirates vanished—without a trace.”

May always swallows hard after that part. Peter’s parents died somewhere in deep space and, like the pirates, their ship was never found. He thinks that his parents' death means more to her and Ben than it does to him. He doesn’t really remember them.

“Woah,” Peter breaths as May turns the page to show an illustration of a galaxy, swirling in a spiral, blooming in shades of purple and blue.

May smiles, a little sadly, and ruffles his hair.

“Their secret trove was hidden. But legend says it’s still out there. Somewhere at the far reaches of the galaxy, with riches beyond your wildest dreams—the loot of one thousand worlds—”

“Treasure Planet,” Peter finishes.

“You don’t even need me to read this to you.” May closes the book. “You know all the words.”

“No I don’t—one more time?”

“Bed, Peter.”

He sighs. “Okay.”

He crawls under the covers and May tucks them in around him, running one hand over his cheek before kissing his forehead.

“Do you think anyone will find Treasure Planet?”

She hesitates. “I think it’s just a story, Pete.”

“Things that are stories can still be real.”

She chuckles and stands. “You’re absolutely right.”

Peter dreams of pirates and buried treasure and the stars.

* * *

_~10 years later~_

Peter finished making his first solar surfer when he was ten years old, a week after Ben died.

He’d crashed it a month later, showing up to May with a busted lip and a broken arm. It’s the first time she’d looked at him like she didn’t recognize him—a mixture of disappointment and horror. He doesn’t think she’s looked at him without that particular expression since. It’s his fault, really. His actions never change and apologies become hollow after a while.

He’s on his nineteenth solar surfer now. 

It’s perched on the top of a cliff, his feet on the board, the tip of it hanging over the edge. He peers over the side. There’s a long way to fall—definitely over 500 feet. It sends a thrill of adrenaline through him, igniting each of his muscles and sharpening his mind.

He leans forward.

And he free falls.

He crouches to the board and spins with it in every direction. The ground approaches fast, but he closes his eyes anyway, letting his instincts dictate his actions.

He waits a second longer than he thinks he should before snapping his eyes open, seeing the ground mere inches away, and jamming his foot onto the pedal. The booster ignites and the sail unfurls. The bottom of the board scrapes against the ground before he angles it upward and he shoots back into the sky.

He lets out a whoop that ends in laughter and extends both arms out sideways to bask in the moment. Just for that second, he is free.

He crashes through a construction sign, barely noticing its existence as he tries to draw out the feeling.

Then he hears the sirens and it dissipates as quickly as it arrived.

* * *

“That’s the fourth time, Peter.”

The Expression is back in full force. He doesn’t really expect any different, but it still hurts. He stares at the ground.

“I just got done telling James that you were really turning a new leaf after last time. I just—I’m trying. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I know, May. I’m sorry. Really.”

And he is—not for doing it (he doesn’t regret taking out some stuck-up prick’s construction sign), but for hurting her. The problem is that he’ll probably do it again. There’s no point to life unless you actually get to feel _alive_ every once in a while.

She sighs and shakes her head, leaving without even bothering to issue a punishment. Because she’s given up on him.

It’s fine.

Peter climbs onto the roof. He traces constellations with his eyes and imagines that one day he’ll be able to reach out and touch them.

Then there’s the grind of metal on hard ground, followed by an explosion. Peter sits up straight, eyes darting across the landscape surrounding their house until he finds the source. There’s a ship, smoke billowing upward from it. He leaps off the roof and runs toward it.

Everything happens fast. A non-humanoid man collapses from the damaged ship, repeating paranoid statements as he stumbles forward. Peter helps him into the house and May shoots him The Expression, but still weaves her arm around the man to prop him up on the couch. 

There’s the sound of another ship landing nearby. The man shoves a gold sphere into Peter’s hand.

“Don’t let him—” He breaks off into a coughing fit—footsteps approach the house. “Take it.”

“Who,” Peter whispers.

The creature grabs the collar of Peter’s shirt and pulls him close, so that his lips are nearly touching his ear. “The cyborg.”

He let’s go and Peter falls back, stunned.

Then the house is on fire and May’s grabbing his hand and they’re running.

They watch the last pieces of everything they owned go up in flames from the front window of James’ house. May cries, and Peter doesn’t even attempt to apologize. He knows it won’t cut it.

* * *

“What is it?” James gestures to the globe in Peter’s hand. 

He tosses it and James catches it effortlessly. His fingers run over the markings and he prods at some of the edges.

“This opens,” he muses. “I could probably figure it out with a little time.”

The ball rolls back across the table to Peter. He lets it knock into his arm and stop there, not bothering to look up.

“It’s not your fault, you know.”

Peter shrugs. It kind of is. Most things are. If he had come home on time the night that Ben died, he wouldn’t be—well, dead. If he could just focus on school instead of building his solar surfers, he could get better grades. If he could just keep his feet on the ground, he wouldn’t disappoint May all the time. And if he hadn’t brought that man inside, they’d still have a home.

He picks up the sphere, squints at the same markings that James had been picking at. It almost looks like—

Peter twists one edge and taps a few symbols. There’s an audible click and pieces of the sphere extend, light exploding from the cracks.

A hologram fills the room, sprinkling different colored shapes over James’ shelves and ceiling. Peter reaches out for one and blue light dances over his finger. 

“Is this—“ Peter spins, looking around the room. “Are these planets?” 

“It’s a map.” The words fall out of James’ mouth almost reverently. “See, there’s us, Montressor. And over here, Xander. There’s Asgard. And—no way—is that—?”

Peter runs over to the planet. It has two rings around it, crossed like an ‘X’. He’s seen that image before. It filled the pages of his story books and the scenes of his dreams as a kid.

“That’s Treasure Planet.” Peter turns to James, grin wide. “James, that’s _Treasure Planet_.”

The door opens and both James and Peter swivel toward it. May takes a single step in before her eyes flash wide and then narrow at Peter.

“What did you do?!”

Even though her tone is harsh, Peter can’t stop smiling. This is his chance. “May, I’m going to fix everything.”

* * *

Despite May’s insistence that there was no way he was going to ‘follow a dead man’s map halfway across the galaxy to a treasure that doesn’t exist’, Peter finds himself stepping out onto the nearest spaceport about a month after their house burned to the ground.

It’s all thanks to James—who was almost as excited as Peter to go out on the big adventure. He convinced May that it would be a good character-building opportunity for Peter, and volunteered to go along as a sort of chaperone. He even hired the Captain and crew.

“I know the crew’s mechanic,” he said. “Haven’t seen him since a few years after we graduated, though. And the Captain is supposed to be one of the best.”

“Couldn’t you fly the ship?” Peter asked.

“I’m retired—and this is my vacation.”

The hardest part was leaving May behind. She insisted that deep space wasn’t the place for her. And then she hugged him tight, not letting go of his arms when she pulled away.

“I know it’s been hard since Ben died. We’ve both been a little—“ she shrugged. “I don’t know—lost? I know you’re looking for something out there—not just that treasure trove. I hope you find it.”

Peter still doesn’t know what he could possibly be looking for.

“There’s our ship,” James yells, pointing.

“Woah.”

It’s beautiful—a ship of dreams, cheesy to say, but true. The masts stretch high into the sky, giant sails hanging from them. Intricate gold trim markings line the sides.

James climbs up the ramp and Peter follows. He rests a hand on the side of the ship for a moment on the way up, savoring the feeling of the wood beneath his skin.

There’s a man on the deck—well, there are a lot of men on the deck, but most of them are bustling about, obviously members of the crew. One man stands still, hands folded behind his back, observing the rest of them. An air of importance emanates off of him.

“Captain?” James approaches the man and Peter slinks along behind him, keeping his head down. He doesn’t have the best track record with authority figures.

The man turns to face them. He looks just as important, almost condescending, from the front. But, an eye-patch covers one of his eyes, giving him more of a pirate vibe than that of a respectable spacer.

“Captain Danvers,” James tries again.

He stares at them with a straight face until it breaks and he erupts with laughter. “Oh, I’m not the Captain.” He points up to the masts. “That’s the Captain.”

A woman is standing on a post next to one of the flags. She flips off of it and seems to float the rest of the way down. 

James’ lips part slightly as she approaches. Peter’s sure that his face is showing a similar type of awe. She’s pretty awesome. There’s a thin layer around her that glows—and that’s not just a euphemism.

“Colonel Rhodes,” she says as she lands. “And you must be Mr. Parker. I’m Carol Danvers. This is my first mate, Nick Fury.”

“Captain,” James says, extending his hand.

Peter wanders to the edge of the ship, peaking over the side at the rest of the spaceport. Hundreds, if not thousands, of ships line the dock, each with their own destinations. There’s something in the air, a combination of anticipation and excitement, like maybe every other person on the port has the same itch that Peter does—some insatiable need that they can’t figure out how to satisfy without taking to the sky.

“Rhodey? Honeybear!”

Peter turns back toward the rest of the ship in time to see James’ face light up, a smile softening his features. 

“Tones!” 

The moniker starts out cheerful, but falls flat by the end. It’s not hard for Peter to figure out why. The man—who must be James’ friend from college—has a metal arm. It’s red, with gold accents. Peter scans up and down it, noting some form of blaster on the hand. The work doesn’t stop there. He has a metal leg too, starting just above his knee. One of his eyes is a normal brown while the other is a striking, unnatural blue. There’s a similar blue glow filtering through his shirt, a small circle in the center of his chest.

He’s clearly been in some terrible accident to warrant that much enhancement—something that’s happened in the years since James has seen him. He’s probably lucky to be alive.

And then Peter remembers the dead man. _Cyborg_.

Peter pushes away his pity and replaces it with suspicion. 

The man places his hand—the human one—on James’ shoulder. His grin looks almost predatory to Peter. “Relax, shit happens.”

“It looks like a lot of shit happened. What the fuck, man.” James looks him up and down.

He just throws his head back and laughs.

James gives him another critical once over and the man starts batting at him, shaking his head, but not once dropping the smile. It’s too perfect—exactly symmetrical. It doesn't fit right when the rest of him is so incongruous—a patchwork of human limbs and metal parts.

“Let me introduce you to—“ James turns his head, eyes widening and face blanching a little with panic when he doesn’t immediately spot Peter. Because he doesn’t trust him. No one really does. 

Peter moves his hand just slightly, in a single wave. James sighs in relief and beckons him over. 

“This is Peter Parker. He’s my friend’s nephew.”

“Pete! Nice to meet ya. Tony Stark.”

He holds his metal hand out. Peter stares at it, then back up at Tony’s face. For a moment, Peter swears the blue eye grows, expanding around the edges. The grin still doesn’t falter. Peter starts to wonder if it’s fake too—a near perfect replica of what a human mouth should look like, but just off enough to freak Peter out, like its creator had dipped into the uncanny valley.

“Peter,” he corrects, pointedly not taking the hand.

The corner of Tony’s mouth twitches, so fast that Peter’s almost convinced he imagined it.

“Perfect, I’m glad you’re getting acquainted,” Carol says, the barest hints of sarcasm tilting the words. “Mr. Parker, you’ll be working under Mr. Stark for the remainder of the voyage.” 

Peter’s stomach swoops. “What?”

He looks to James for help, but he’s just smiling encouragingly at Peter, as if this is a good thing. Now that Peter thinks about it, James is probably the one that arranged it. Tony’s a mechanic and James knows about Peter’s hobby of building solar surfers.

Tony’s eyes flick between Carol and Peter. He gives a little salute. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

Carol rolls her eyes. “Why don’t you show us your workshop, Mr. Stark.”

He salutes again and starts walking. His stride hitches for the first few steps, a limp on the leg with the mechanical component. It evens out the longer they walk. 

They follow him down stairs and through a door. Behind it, there are tables full of tools and ship parts. A few bots whir upon their arrival and Tony greets them like pets. One of them practically squeals and wheels itself over to James.

“DUM-E!” James pats the bot. “Nice to see you again, bud.”

“An idiot, that one,” Tony says. “Had him since college.”

“James or DUM-E?” 

Peter bites his lip, glancing to see if Carol had heard. There’s a small, amused smirk on her face. Tony also looks something like pleased. He pats Peter on the back—a little too hard. He stumbles forward a few steps.

“So, this is where you’ll be spending most of your time, Mr. Parker,” Carol says.

Partly because he’s emboldened by the response to his joke, and partly because he really wasn’t looking to have a _job_ on this particular journey, he starts to protest. “No disrespect Captain Danvers, but why do I have to work?”

“On my ship, everyone pitches in.”

“What’s James doing then?”

“Did you fund the journey, Mr. Parker?”

He feels his cheeks starting to heat up. “No, but I’m the one who found the m—”

“Mr. Parker, Colonel, I’d like to speak to you in my chambers.” Carol’s out of the room, the tail of her coat swishing behind her, before anyone has time to question her.

Tony whistles. “Someone’s in trouble.”

“Shut up, Tones.” There’s no animosity. If anything, James is beaming at Tony—more energized than Peter’s ever seen him. 

“Her chambers though—that’s fun. She’s your type.” Tony leans toward Peter, cupping a hand around his mouth. “He likes the ones who could kill him with just their pinky finger.”

“Fuck _off_.”

Tony starts barking out his boisterous laugh again. “I’ve missed you, platypus.”

“Missed you too, you idiot.” James slings an arm over Peter’s shoulder and leads him to the door. “Hopefully this won’t take too long so we can watch the launch from the deck.”

“Come back soon, Pete,” Tony calls. “Gotta put you to work—Captain’s orders!”

“Peter,” he mumbles under his breath.

* * *

“I don’t trust this crew you’ve hired.” Carol’s pacing her chamber. “There’s something off about them.”

“I’ve known Tony for—it must be close to 30 years now.”

“No.” Carol twirls on her heels, angling herself at James. “You knew him 30 years ago. People live whole lives in that amount of time. Was he half-metal the last time you saw him?”

James clamps his mouth shut, must look adequately chastised by Carol’s assessment, because she turns to Peter instead.

“Where’s the map?”

Peter lifts it out of his pocket. When Carol sticks an open hand out, he rolls his eyes, but drops the globe into it. She pokes a few numbers into a keypad on a safe and places the map inside, closing the door with a satisfied smile.

“It should be safe there until we reach our destination.” She checks her watch, then glances out the window of her room. “We should be setting sail any minute now. Any questions?”

Peter considers mentioning what the dead man had told him about a cyborg, but decides against it. He can figure it out on his own.

* * *

Peter climbs the first few rungs on a ladder up one of the masts as the ship lifts from the ground. He hugs the wood as he takes it all in, the people on the spaceport growing smaller as they ascend, the stars growing closer. His feet start to rise, floating off the ladder. He grips the mast tighter.

“Engage gravity simulator,” Carol orders.

There’s a noise of affirmation and Peter’s feet snap back down, missing a rung and dragging him toward the bottom of the ladder. He lands in a heap on the deck with a grunt.

“Petey!”

He pushes himself to his feet and blinks, trying to find the source of the voice to figure out who would twist his name into something so childish and godawful.

And there’s Tony, blue eye and weird chest circle gleaming, hands waving in the air. 

Peter sighs. It might not be exactly the trip he’d imagined, but he’ll have to make the most of it. He’s not going to let the cyborg totally spoil his one opportunity to touch the stars.

“C’mon, kid!”

Peter trudges down to the workshop. DUM-E wheels over and starts bumping into him repeatedly, cooing. Peter bites his cheeks to try to keep himself from smiling, but doesn’t quite manage it.

Tony’s workshop is actually pretty cool, and under different circumstances—one in which he didn’t suspect that Tony was the person that the dead man had used his last words to warn Peter about—he might be excited to work in it. 

There are a bunch of foreign-looking gadgets lining the work tables. A blue cylinder sits on one, encased in metal. It matches the color of the circle on Tony’s chest. Peter picks it up and rotates it in front of his face. Tony tsks at him and snatches it out of his hands. 

“You might not want to pick up anything without asking. No promises that it won’t explode.”

“Should you have things that explode that easily on a ship?”

Tony just grunts. Peter hops onto one of the tables, sliding some tools out of the way.

“I have a question.”

Tony considers it, then gestures for Peter to proceed.

“Where are you from?”

Tony chuckles. “Here and there. All over the place. My old man was a spacer. I take after him I s’pose.”

Peter waits, praying that Tony will have some manners and return the question like he’d expected him to.

“How about you? Didn’t look like you’d seen a launch before, so I’m guessing you’re not a spacer-kid.”

“I’m from Montressor. Ever been?”

Peter watches Tony carefully. He tightens something on the casing of the blue cylinder and then turns it over, repeating the motion on the other side.

“Can’t say I have. What’s it like?”

“It’s just—I met this guy. He said he was going to be meeting a cyborg on Montressor. Sure you’ve never been there?”

Tony sets his wrench down. Peter flinches at the resounding clink.

“I’m hardly the only guy in the galaxy with a little bit of metal.”

“How’d it happen then?”

For the first time, Peter sees the smile fall completely. “There’s a price to living out here—chasing a dream. You lose a few things along the way.”

Peter makes himself busy fiddling with his hands.

“Enough chit chat. I’ve got to get to work. Launch is hard on a ship.” Tony starts loading materials into a toolbox.

Despite his reservations, Peter starts to get excited. He does love fixing things.

“What are we doing first?”

“Oh, _we’re_ not doing anything.” Tony points to the corner of the workshop. “You’re doing that.”

There’s a mop, leaning against a wall. A bucket sits beneath it.

“Wait—I’m good at building things. I can help—“

Tony grabs the mop and throws it in Peter’s direction. It clatters to the ground at his feet. The bucket follows, landing right side up. 

“Pete, meet mop, and his friend bucket. DUM-E, keep an eye on him.”

Peter rolls his eyes and makes sure to glare at Tony’s back as he leaves with his toolbox.

* * *

Over the span of a week, Peter cleans every surface of Tony’s workshop and then every inch of the deck. When he stumbles back into the workshop on the seventh day, barely stay up on his feet, Tony gets a real kick out of it, eyes gleaming with mirth. 

“First time with a job, kiddo?”

Indignation flares first because Peter tries to get jobs all the time to help May out. Guilt replaces it quickly because of the amount of times he’s quit or been fired from them. 

Instead of trying to explain anything, he just shrugs. 

Tony cuffs him over the head. “Take the afternoon off—get some rest.” 

Peter blinks up at him, hopefully. He’d love an afternoon to explore the parts of the ship that he hasn’t seen yet. He could climb to the top of one of the masts and finally get the chance to stargaze in deep space.

“And tell Rhodey to stop mooning over our lovely Captain and come visit me. I miss him dearly.”

Peter hurries upstairs so that Tony won’t have the chance to reconsider. In his haste to exit he runs smack into another member of the crew, coming down the stairs.

“Watch it, boy,” the man says. There’s a smile on his face that reminds him of Tony’s—except even more awful somehow. At least Tony’s reaches his eyes sometimes.

“Sorry, sir,” Peter mumbles, sidestepping and taking the rest of the stairs two at a time.

James is with Carol. She’s standing in front of the wheel, and he’s a few feet away, leaning on the side of the ship.

“I used to fly, you know,” he says.

“And I used to be a magician.”

Fury laughs and Carol grins at him. 

“I’m serious,” James says. “You know I’m a colonel—Air Force! I used to fly.”

“It’s true,” Peter pipes up. It seems like James could use some help and he’s done a lot for May. Peter owes him. “I’ve seen pictures.”

Carol looks briefly at Peter than squints at James. “Why’d you stop?”

“I thought I was ready to settle somewhere permanent.” James glides his fingers over the wheel, almost longingly. “Maybe I wasn’t.”

“Maybe you weren’t,” she echoes. “I should have seen it. Spacer life suits you.”

“Mr. Stark wants to see you,” Peter interjects, because he has a feeling he’s quickly going to lose his chance to speak. “He said he misses you—er, dearly.”

“Charming, that one,” Carol mutters.

But, James looks as enamored by Tony’s antics as ever. “I’ll head down there soon.

“Do you want to take a turn at the helm first?”

Peter hears James agree, and the two of them bicker and giggle like children as he walks away. 

His legs feel heavy as he forces them down the stairs, one foot after the other. His mind is a little foggy, eyes begging to shut. He follows his plan anyway; he wants to explore the ship.

He climbs up to an empty observation deck and leans over the edge, watching crew-members lumber about the ship. Then he lays down, hands behind his head to stare into the deep dark expanse of space. They’re far from the constellations that he’s used to in Montressor’s sky. He makes new ones.

* * *

A weight falls over Peter. He huffs a little and shifts, drawing the blanket closer. The surface under him is hard, not that the cot he sleeps on in the ship is soft, but this has less give than that. 

He cracks an eye open to figure out where he is and sees the side of the ledge surrounding the observation deck. The excursion up here floats back to the forefront of him mind. Then, he sees a red hand at the top of the ladder. It’s gone almost as soon as he notices it and he props himself up a little to look down. It’s Tony. Peter rubs his eyes to make sure he isn’t seeing things. But, when he looks again, he’s still there. He stops about halfway down to fiddle with his leg before continuing.

Peter curls back up and decides to think about it in the morning.

* * *

“What do you want me to do today, Mr. Stark?” Peter bites into an apple as he steps off the last stair, speaking around the chewing. 

Tony jumps a little in his seat. He hunches his body over whatever he’s working on. Then he looks back at Peter and grimaces at the way he’s chewing.

“Captain needs the deck polished.”

Peter groans. “I’ve cleaned the deck already. I’ve cleaned everything! Are you ever going to let me build something—I’m good, I swear.”

“Polished, not cleaned. There’s special polishing stuff.”

“What does that even mean?”

Tony tosses him a bottle of the aforementioned ‘polishing stuff’ and gestures to a pile of rags on one of the shelves. Peter grabs a few, trying to convey his dissatisfaction in the harsh swipe.

He has a set pattern that he takes when cleaning—-or in this case _polishing_ , what the difference really is, Peter isn’t sure—the deck. He starts at the front, and goes around the right side before the left.

He’s about halfway through when one of the crew-member’s arm’s swings into him, nearly knocking him to the ground. Peter staggers into the side of the ship, grabbing onto it to steady himself.

“Watch it,” the guy growls over his shoulder.

Peter glares at his back as he continues away. 

The little exchange brought him to the attention of some of the other members of the crew. He can feel their eyes on him, hear their light whispers. Peter looks up at them, not exactly the glare he’d given the guy who hit him, but not a friendly gaze either.

“What do you want, cabin-boy?” 

He shakes his head and goes back to polishing, but the damage is already done. The roughest members of the crew start to converge on him from all angles, snarling a little. Peter recognizes the bald guy who had bumped into him the other day when he was leaving Tony’s workshop. He doesn’t get close to Peter like some of the other people, instead lingering behind with a greasy smirk.

Peter takes a few steps away, until his back is pressed against the side of the ship. Faces leer over him, and someone spits. It hits Peter on the corner of his mouth. He wipes it away with disgust.

The group parts and the bald man enters the circle, approaching Peter. He gets close enough that Peter can feel his breath on his face, and even worse, smell it—the stench of it is rancid, but sickeningly sweet, like rotten fruit.

“You should learn to mind your own business, boy.”

The bald man’s hand comes up to Peter’s throat, there’s a blade between two of his fingers. He presses it against Peter’s skin—right on his Adam’s apple.

Peter swallows, feeling the glide of the knife-tip over his throat at the movement. He doesn’t think it’s drawing blood—yet. He tries to harden his face, look as threatening as possible. “Why, you got something to hide?”

The pressure on the blade increases. “You little—”

Peter closes his eyes. It’s a fitting end really, one that May will definitely be disappointed in him for. 

But then the pressure falls away.

“Alright, Obie, that’s enough.” 

Tony’s metal hand has a death grip around the bald man’s wrist. He twists it slightly and the knife clatters to the floor. 

Peter’s breath hitches a few times as he tries to calm down. He can still feel the phantom touch of the blade on his skin. When he reaches up, his hand comes away with red on his fingertips.

“What’s all this then?” Fury walks down the stairs, the ever-present scowl of disapproval deeper than usual. “The Captain will not tolerate any in-fighting on this ship. This is the only warning you’ll get.”

The crowd around Peter starts to disperse, with grumbled affirmations to Fury’s words.

“Did I make myself clear, Mr. Stane?”

The bald man’s lips twist into an empty smile. “Crystal.”

He looks at Peter once more. Peter quickly lowers his gaze and drops to his knees, busying himself with the rags.

The phantom knife has been replaced by a hand, clenching around his throat and squeezing until no air can get through. The boards of the ship deck start to blur and Peter can’t tell if it’s because he’s about to pass out or if there are tears in his eyes.

“Up you get,” Tony says. “I need you in the workshop.”

Peter gathers the rags and bucket and follows Tony downstairs, never looking up from his feet. 

“Here.” Tony holds out a bandage. “You’ve got a little—” He makes a few slashing gestures near his neck.

Peter takes it without a word. He reaches his hand up, trying to feel where the cut is.

“I have to do everything myself,” Tony mutters. He grabs the bandage and tilts Peter’s chin up, plastering it over the cut on Peter’s neck.

It’s illogical how much the mere presence of the bandage calms him. As soon as the cotton touches his neck he feels less exposed. It’s not as hard to breath.

“Um, thanks.”

Tony shakes his head, and turns back to whatever project he’s working on. It looks like he has a bunch of different kinds of metals lined up, sorted into different groups. “Didn’t your dad ever teach you to pick your battles? Because let me tell you, you should actively avoid ten v. one scenarios.”

Peter starts stacking his unused rags back on the shelf. “Nope.”

“Old man’s not the teaching type, then?”

Peter grabs the bucket and carries it to the sink, dumping it down the drain and watching the water spiral in like a whirlpool. “Not the living type, actually. Neither of my parents—my aunt and uncle raised me. Well, my uncle’s dead too, now.”

He’s not sure why he’s spilling his sob-story to the guy who’s forcing him to mop various surfaces everyday. He blames it on the near death experience he just had.

Tony snorts. “Well in some ways you’re lucky, they didn’t get a chance to disappoint you.”

“They wouldn’t have,” Peter says automatically.

“Exactly.” Tony looks up from his work. “It’s easier to say that about the people you never got to know than the ones that you did.”

“Did someone disappoint you?”

“That’s deflecting. This isn’t about me, this is about you.” Tony jabs a finger at Peter’s chest.

Peter pushes his hand away. “Whatever. It was all a long time ago anyway.”

“Hmmm.”

“What?”

Tony just hums again.

* * *

The next day, DUM-E wheels over to Peter holding a hammer. Peter greets him and tries to move past, but DUM-E keeps getting in his way, shoving the hammer closer to him each time.

“Take it,” Tony says. “You’re working with me today.”

“Really?”

“I can change my mind.”

Tony leaves the room, whistling, with his toolkit slung over his shoulder. Peter snatches the hammer from DUM-E and scrambles after him.

“Where are we going?” Peter tries to keep the excitement out of his voice, but it still shines through.

“The heater in Fury’s chambers stopped working last night. I can’t imagine why that might be.” Tony mumbles the last bit under his breath, sarcastic.

“Why? Does Mr. Fury run his heater too much or something?”

Tony shifts his eyes to Peter. “Obie did have a point about you. Lesson one—keep your nose out of everyone else’s business.”

“Lesson one,” Peter scoffs. “What—do you think you’re my—my what? My mentor? Trying to teach me things?”

“Trying is the operative word. It’s hard to get anything through that thick skull of yours.”

“Well, I don’t need anyone to teach me anything. I’ve gotten by just fine so far.”

Tony hums again, in the same annoying tone he had used the night before. It’s the wordless equivalent of ‘sure you have’.

Peter’s skin prickles with anger as Tony kneels by the heater with some difficulty. It doesn’t go away as he speaks in technical terms and demonstrates what he’s doing. It’s easy stuff anyway, and he’s talking to Peter as if he’s never held a tool in his life.

“Alright, kid, your turn.” Tony holds out a screwdriver.

He looks so earnest that Peter feels his hatred ebb, slightly, but then it roars again, because that’s how Ben had looked when he’d given Peter the components of his first solar surfer. It’s a mixture of pride and eagerness to see what Peter can do. Tony has no right to look at him like that.

Peter grabs the screwdriver and loosens the required bolts in swift, practiced motions. He pries off the covering to find a wire disconnected within. He reaches forward.

“Woah—be careful—”

Peter reattaches it to it’s correct place and slams the cover back on. He quickly screws in the bolts, drops the screw driver, and storms away.

Even the clear air and the beautiful starscape don’t seem to calm him. He walks the length of the deck, agitated, mind racing. He keeps picturing Ben, with the blaster wound smoking in his chest—his mouth forming an almost surprised ‘o’. And then he sees May, crying, May, disappointed, May, watching her house go up in flames. For some reason, Tony pops into his head, too—the bewildered look on his face when Peter left Fury’s room. 

He hops up onto the ledge of the ship and starts pacing. Something about knowing that any misstep could send him spiraling into nothingness makes his brain quiet down.

* * *

“I’m testing the lifeboats today,” Tony says. “Are you going to throw another fit?”

Peter sort of wants to bang his head against the table. Instead, he gets up and follow Tony to the lowest floor of the ship. There’s a line of lifeboats, smaller replicas of the main vessel.

Tony climbs into one, his prosthetic leg catches on the side and he groans as he lifts it over the lip with his hands.

The thing with his leg has been bothering Peter for a while. Tony’s good at what he does. Peter would never say it to his face, but he has a strong suspicion that he’s even smarter than he lets on—and he lets on a lot.

“Why don’t you fix it?” Peter nods at the leg.

“There’s nothing to fix.” Tony rubs at the spot where the metal and flesh meet. “It’s technically perfect.”

Peter clambers in and sits next to him. “But—sometimes you limp. It looks like it hurts you.”

“I’m told it’s all—” He taps his temple a few times. “Up here. Nothing I can do about that with a box of tools.”

“Oh.” Peter stares at the sleek lines of the leg, clearly made with lots of thought and care, better than any prosthetics he’s seen before. Tony must have worked on it a lot before realizing that it wasn’t the problem.

“It’s the least of my worries, anyway.”

Before Peter can question that, Tony tells Peter to untie one of the ropes that’s docking the lifeboat to the ship. Peter does as he said, sees Tony doing the same to the rope on the other side. Then, a patch in the bottom of the ship slides open, giving them a place to exit out into open space.

“Shit,” Tony says. “Hop off and grab the kit, Pete. Just in case.”

Peter leaps back to the main ship and scoops up the toolkit. He hears the lifeboat’s engine roar to life and looks back in time to see it leave his sight.

He stares at the space in the bottom of the ship, trying to convince himself that it’s not a big deal. Tony isn’t the first, nor will he be the last to leave Peter behind. He wonders if his parents felt bad about leaving him alone with May and Ben when they went on their missions into space. It’s a useless grudge to hold against them—he doesn’t even remember it and they’re dead now. He thinks back to what Tony said about disappointment. Maybe he was right. Maybe they had already disappointed him even before they’d died. Maybe everyone disappoints everyone a little bit. 

Peter sighs, turns to walk back up the stairs.

But then the roar of the engine becomes deafening again. Peter whips his head back around to the exit point.

“Where are you going?” Tony pats the spot next to him. “Hop in!”

A grin sneaks up on Peter before he can stop it. He jumps off the edge, the boat shaking side to side when he lands.

“Any interest in taking the reins?” Tony pushes the yoke to Peter.

The grin keeps growing. He grabs it and pushes it as far as it will go. The ship surges forward. Tony’s hands grip the side of the ship.

Peter dips them into a sharp turn, then sends the ship into a spiral like he’s done so many times on his solar surfers. 

“Pete—”

He just smiles and pulls the ship out of it, angling toward a passing comet. He zigzags along behind it, then right next to it. Tony’s hold on the ship finally loosens, and he eases back into a more relaxed pose. He doesn’t say a word for the rest of the flight, just letting Peter do his own thing, until he quietly suggests that they go back to the main ship.

* * *

“You’re a good pilot,” Tony says after they have the lifeboat resecured in the hangar. “And you’ve got a knack for engineering, too. You’re a bright kid.”

Peter feels his cheeks start to heat up. “Yeah, well, nobody really thinks that back home.”

“Rhodey implied you were a bit—troubled.”

He knew that was what everyone thought of him but it still hurts to hear that James confirmed it. He kicks the ground lightly. “I’m going to change all of that. I have a plan. And then everyone will see me a little bit differently.”

Tony frowns and the blue eye dims. “Sometimes plans don’t work out.”

He always touches one of his metallic body parts when he talks about the past. This time it’s the light in his chest.

“Like your dream,” Peter presses. “The one that caused the, uh—accident?”

Tony glances over at Peter, realizes that he’s staring at his chest, and quickly removes his hand.

“What really happened?”

Tony shakes his head. “No reason to dwell on the past.”

“Please, Mr. Stark.”

He sighs. “It’s a long story. My dad had a dream. He died trying to complete it, so it became mine. I pissed off some people—got myself captured. Got some shrapnel in my chest.” He taps the blue light a few times. “They took a little more off of me every time I did something they didn’t like.”

Peter can’t focus on Tony’s face, his vision keeps dancing over to his arm or his leg. He’d imagined that an explosion had damaged everything all at once. He hadn’t expected torture. He keeps getting drawn back to the circle of light in his chest.

Peter points to it. “What is it?”

“I call it an arc reactor. Basically an electromagnet. It keeps the shrapnel from slicing up my heart.”

Peter swallows. “I’m sorry.”

“Like I said, it’s the past.” Tony shrugs. “They left me unattended—couldn’t escape without a leg, right? So I built a leg. Then I built everything else too. Got back to Obie—that’s the important part.”

“Obie,” Peter echoes. “You guys are friends?”

He doesn’t place Tony and the bald man who held a knife to his throat in the same category. They’re at completely opposite sides of the spectrum of people in Peter’s head.

“He was my old man’s best friend. He looks out for me.”

“It didn’t really seem like that when you were twisting his arm around.”

Tony’s blue eye flashes dangerously. Peter flinches away. He’s not really sure what the eye can do.

“We don’t always agree. But he still wants what’s best for me.”

“Um, okay.”

“You still haven’t learned when to stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. That’ll be your downfall, Peter.”

He gets up and leaves without another word, disappearing down a dark corridor. 

It’s the first time he’s ever said Peter’s full name.

* * *

Everything’s normal when Peter shows up to work the next morning. Tony just throws him a set of tools, with a smile, like nothing happened. He even sends Peter to work on one of the lifeboat’s engines by himself. 

He’s down in the hangar, head under the small ship, hands up in the air to work on the engine, when the whole ship sways. Peter drops a screwdriver in the commotion. He leans to grab it, but the ship rocks again, sending it scattering to the other side of the room.

“What the—”

There’s another jolt and Peter’s thrown through the air. He struggles to his feet and runs up the stairs unsteadily. As he comes out onto the main deck, James sprints past him. 

“What’s going on,” Peter yells over the commotion.

“That star—” James points. “It’s gone supernova.”

“Get this ship turned around,” Carol barks. “All hands, fasten your life-lines.”

Tony’s already at the lifeline posts. Some of the tension eases out of his face when he sees Peter.

“Here.” Tony tosses him one of the lines and Peter catches it, tying it around his waist and then tugging the other end to make sure it’s fastened to its post.

“Secure the sails,” Fury bellows.

Tony and Peter exchange a look, and then rush to the nearest mast. 

“Your leg, Mr. Stark. I’ve got it.”

“It’s not a one man job. And my leg is technically perfect, remember?” He flashes Peter a toothy grin and starts up the ladder.

Almost all of the members of the crew are poised on thin pieces of wood, tugging at the ropes attached to the sails to try to bring them down. Peter pulls on his as hard as he can, finally starting some momentum and getting the rope moving. Once it’s all the way down, he fastens it to a hook.

And then he hears Tony shout. He looks up and sees him clutching near his arc reactor, eyes blown. He stumbles and his body topples off the platform. Part of his life-line hangs off the ship, charred from where a burning spec of space debris coming off the star hit it.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter lunges, reaches his arms out as far as he can. He flails his hands until they find purchase around the part of the lifeline that is still connected to Tony. He ends up with his body curled around the platform like a koala, but thankfully, still holding on to the line. He hoists Tony up until his arms can reach the wood and he pulls himself the rest of the way.

“Thanks, kid,” he says between shaky breaths.

Peter links his arm under Tony and helps him down to the deck.

“I’m good—just a burn.”

Peter looks down at it. The debris had seared right through Tony’s shirt, just a centimeter to the upper right of the arc reactor. Peter can see the blistery red skin. There are black tendrils, too, zigzagging out from the arc reactor. Peter doesn’t know it it’s from the burn or from the torture.

The burn isn’t what Peter’s worried most about though. Tony’s trembling, still leaning on Peter slightly for support even though they're back on the deck. His real hand hasn’t left the reactor since he fell. Peter’s never thought of Tony as fragile—half of him isn’t even flesh and bone, but right now he wouldn’t be surprised if one of the winds off the exploding star blew him away.

The ship suddenly picks up speed, heading faster toward the star. Peter tears his eyes away from Tony and squints at it. It looks different than it had the last time he’d looked.

Tony notices too and his face pales further. “Fuck.”

“It’s devolved into a blackhole,” James yells.

“Why are these waves so erratic?” Carol had taken over the helm from one of her subordinates at some point, and she’s straining, trying to keep the wheel in place to turn the boat around.

“They’re not,” James calls back. “They’re exponential, each one’s coming faster. The biggest one should be in about 50 seconds.”

“Of course. Colonel, you’re brilliant.” She looks at him like he’s the star instead of the exploding mess in front of them. “Fury, get all the sails back up.”

“They’re not going to like that, Captain,” Fury says, and then louder, “Put the sails back up!”

There’s grumbling from the crew, but they dutifully climb back up the ladders and start unfurling the sails. It helps that Fury joins them this time. They follow his example. 

Tony takes a deep breath and moves to join them as well. Peter doesn’t let go right away, but Tony brushes him off. The best he can do is go up after him in case he falls again.

“Mr. Parker,” Carol yells. “Make sure all lifelines are secure!”

Peter pauses in his climbing, gives Tony a wary glance, and then hops back down to the deck. If he’s being honest, he’s shocked that Carol is giving him such a big responsibility. “Yes, Captain."

He runs to the rods with the life-lines and tugs each one until it’s tight.

“Life-lines, secure, Captain!”

She beams down at him. Peter basks in it.

The ship pitches to the side. Peter’s eyes widen as multiple bodies fall from the higher parts of the ship. Their lines seem to catch all of them, and they start climbing back to safety. A surge of pride spreads through Peter. Some of them might have plummeted to their deaths if he hadn’t tightened the life-lines.

“The last wave in five, four,” James starts counting.

“Everyone hold on,” Carol calls.

Peter wraps his arms around the nearest post. A second later, a body covers his. He opens one eye and looks back. It’s Tony—sheltering him from the worst of the debris.

* * *

The ship makes it through with only superficial damage. Peter feels more alive than he ever has as the crew rejoices. Tony keeps patting Peter’s back. He looks proud, and for the first time, Peter finds that he doesn’t mind it.

“Mr. Fury, is everyone accounted for?”

The celebration stops when there’s no answer. 

“Mr. Fury,” Carol tries again. 

Peter glances around, looking for an eyepatch.

When he finally finds one, he wishes he hadn’t. It’s lying flat in Stane’s hand. 

He approaches Carol and holds it out to her. She takes it. The glow around her falters a little as her face falls.

“He was knocked off the ship, ma’am.” Stane turns to look at Peter. “His lifeline wasn’t secure.”

“Yes it was! I checked! They all were.” Peter runs to the posts. 

He reaches them and starts checking each one. The fifth from the left is devastatingly empty. It’s his fault. Everyone can see it.

“I checked,” he repeats helplessly. “I swear, I checked them.”

He can feel everyone looking at him—no animosity, just disappointment, and maybe some pity. His stomach starts to churn. He sprints away. Tony tries to grab him on his way past, but he shrugs him off.

* * *

“Pete, it’s not your fault.”

A hand falls on his shoulder, squeezes once.

“Why does everyone say that when it _clearly_ is? I messed up. I didn’t secure the lifeline and now Mr. Fury’s dead. And it’s my fault. Again.”

“Pete—”

Peter stands and turns. “No! Just stop. I almost— _almost_ —thought that maybe I could do something right for once. But—whatever. Forget it.”

He turns back away, slumping against the side of the ship. To his humiliation, he starts crying before he can remind himself not to. Embarrassing sniffling sounds start to escape him and he presses his hands over his face to try to contain them.

“Alright, listen up Peter Parker.” Tony grabs his shoulders and spins him around. “I’m only going to say this once. You’ve got _it_ , kid. That special thing—whatever you want to call it. A spark? Some X factor? People spend their whole lives trying to obtain it, but you’ve already got it. You just have to learn how to use it.”

Peter’s not quite sure he’s following what _it_ even is, but he stares up at Tony with wide eyes anyway, swiping at the bottoms of them to try to stop the tears from falling down his cheeks.

“And that just takes time, and some growing up, but you’ll get there. As long as you keep pushing forward—even when it seems impossible—you’ll get there. I just hope that I’m around to see it when you do.”

Peter feels his bottom lip quivering uncontrollably. He bites it and then collapses forward, pushing his head into Tony’s chest, then rearranging it to the side when it bumps into the metal circle there. He brings his arms up over his back hesitantly. There’s an awkward second when Peter’s afraid that Tony’s going to stay stock-still, but then he hugs Peter back, pulling him closer.

“Now get off me,” he says. “Can’t have anyone thinking I’ve gone soft.”

Peter chuckles a little.

“Now, get some sleep, alright?”

Peter nods. He looks back one last time before he goes to his room. Tony offers him a smile and it’s not perfect at all. One corner rises higher than the other and more of the bottom row of his teeth shows on the right side than the left.

Peter likes that one a lot better.

* * *

He gets to Tony’s workshop early the next day. DUM-E makes some happy noises, picks up a ball, and drops it at Peter’s feet.

“Wanna play fetch?”

DUM-E twirls around in a circle and beeps.

“Okay, here you go.” Peter rolls it.

They play for a few minutes, and then DUM-E changes the game, chucking the ball as hard as possible for Peter to chase down instead.

One throw sends the ball rolling into Tony’s supply closet and Peter dashes inside, kneeling and looking under the shelves for it. He bumps his head on the lowest shelf when he tries to stand, knocking the contents of it to the ground. He grabs the back of his head and studies what fell. They’re the same metal cartridges that Peter had seen on Tony’s desk one day, except they’re all burnt, shriveled up on one end. He picks one up and runs a finger over the mutilated bits.

He hears the door to the workshop open and drops the piece of metal. He starts to exit the closet, so that Tony won’t think he was snooping, but there’s more than one voice getting closer. They sound heated. Peter lowers himself into a crouch.

“Why would you do that?” It’s Tony’s voice. Peter tries to peek around the doorframe to see. “We could have made it out of this clean.”

“Oh, come on, Tony. Grow up.”

“No, you stick to the plan.”

“Do you think your father would have let these people live. I knew this was going to be a problem for you when that Rhodes was paying for the voyage—and now the boy! What exactly do you think you’re doing with him? Playing father? You’re getting soft.”

Stane’s feet pass the door and Peter winces, flattening himself against the shelf.

“I am not getting—“ Tony takes a deep breath and when he speaks again, his voice is more even. “The kid means nothing. I’m just making sure he has no suspicions.”

Peter bites his lip and tries to convince himself that the words don’t affect him. DUM-E whirs sadly. Peter holds a finger to his lips, hoping that the bot can understand what that means.

“Uh huh. Because that requires long chats about self-worth.”

“Yes, Obie, sometimes it does!”

“Alright, alright.” Peter pokes his head back out and Stane’s holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m just trying to warn you. Everyone’s growing restless. The time to strike is now.”

“We stick to plan,” Tony demands. “Wait until we find the map—or reach the treasure.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

Stane shakes his head and turns away from Tony, heading for the steps. “Just remember I warned you.”

Peter holds his breath until Tony goes up the stairs after Stane. Even then, he stays in the closet for a few more seconds, leaning back against the shelves, breathing heavily, as he tries to process the conversation.

He stacks the fallen metal cartridges next to the glowing cylinder and shoots to his feet. 

DUM-E beeps in protest.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ve got to—“

He runs out of the closet, immediately face to face with Tony.

“Got to what, Petey?”

Peter takes a step back. “I was supposed to—eat breakfast with James—I forgot.”

“Is that so?” Tony’s smile is perfect again—teeth shining too white. He keeps moving closer to Peter until he’s backed against a table.

Now, he sees it, with Tony looming over him just like Stane had. They are similar—in some ways. He can see the pieces of Tony that were raised by Stane.

Peter juts his chin out defiantly. “Yes.”

“Cut the bullshit. How much did you hear?”

He feels along the table behind his back until his hand hits something semi-sharp. It’s a screw driver—he’s pretty sure. He feels along it until he gets his hand clasped around the handle.

“Enough.”

Tony’s eyes flash. There are traces of the man Peter thought he knew in the brown one. He won’t fall for that again.

“It’s my dad’s treasure, kid. That map is rightfully mine. Tell me where it is.”

“Finders, keepers.” Peter pulls his hand from behind his back and pounces. He jams the screwdriver between the metal and skin of his leg and pries it backward.

Tony screams in agony, clutching his leg. Peter’s first instinct is to reach out and catch him before he falls, but he ignores it. He knocks a few tables over to slow Tony down and dashes to the deck.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches Carol’s chambers. James is in there too. Peter thanks the stars that they’re just sitting on the bed and not doing anything else.

“We need to get off this ship.”

Just as Carol opens her mouth to question him, Tony’s voice booms from the deck. Peter glances out the window. He’s holding his hands in the air, forming fists and then pointing up at them.

“It’s time! Get the map!”

There are cheers from the rest of the crew. Peter sees Stane clap Tony on the back. Then everyone starts charging up from the deck.

Carol unlocks her safe and tosses the map to Peter. “Keep it safe.”

The three follow an escape route that takes them directly to the lifeboats. Peter starts untying ropes as Carol and James work on the sail and engine respectively. 

Peter lingers by the last knot, waiting to let it loose until Carol and James are ready.

Then suddenly, the rope he’s standing by gets hit by a blast. The lifeboat falls down into space. Peter glances over the edge, relieved to see that the engine has ignited. 

He looks back at the source of the blast and sees Tony, metal arm extended outward with the palm up.

“Give me the map.”

“No.”

“I’ll split the treasure with you. 50/50. You can still rebuild your aunt’s house. You’ll still be rich. People will still see you different.”

Peter hates that he’s tempted. But even if he did agree, there’s no guarantee that Tony would follow through.

“I don’t trust you anymore!” More anguish seeps into the words than Peter means to convey.

Tony sniffs. He ducks his head. “I tried to teach you that. People tend to disappoint.”

“You know, I think that lesson is finally sinking in. Guess I learn better from practical experiences.”

There’s a small thud behind Peter. While Tony’s still staring down at his feet he chances a quick glance backwards.

The lifeboat with Carol and James is floating just below the ship. James gestures for Peter to jump.

“Please, Pete. I don’t want to hurt you. Let’s just talk—like men.”

Peter feels in his pocket for the map, tracing a few of the grooves along the sphere. Tony tracks the motion. There’s frenzied desperation written all over his face.

“No, thanks.”

Peter steps backwards. Tony reaches out his hand and the light in the center of it intensifies.

“Go,” Peter yells as he lands in the lifeboat. “Now!”

Carol pushes the control wheel as far as it will go. James and Peter fly to the back of the boat as it speeds forward.

“We’re not going to get far enough away from them in time,” James says as he pushes himself back to his feet. “They’re already setting up the cannons.”

Peter looks back. Stane is standing at the tip of the boat, arms crossed as his lackeys rush around him, getting the weapons ready.

“Go faster.”

“This is as fast as it goes!”

Peter ducks down between seats as the first cannon fires. Thankfully, the shot misses them, just left of their boat.

“May will kill us if we die.”

James pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know that, Peter.”

Carol dodges a few more shots. Peter starts messing with the engine, trying to figure out if there’s any way to make it go faster. James catches on to what he’s doing and joins him.

And then the boat plunges sideways. Peter hears Carol gasp, sees her fall out of the corner of his eye. The boat drops into a nosedive.

“Shit.” James reaches out for the yoke, yanks it backwards, trying to pull them out of the spin.

“Captain Danvers?” Peter crawls over to her. It takes a long time, his body keeps getting thrown this way and that. 

There’s a planet in front of them, they’re heading straight for it. The boat shudders as they break the atmosphere.

“Brace yourselves,” James shouts over his shoulder. “We’re going to crash!”

Peter throws himself over Captain Danvers and holds onto the boat as tight as he can.

* * *

When Peter comes to, the first thing he sees is their lifeboat, completely demolished. It barely even looks like a lifeboat anymore. All that’s left of the sail are smoking pieces of fabric near the cracked mast. As he’s watching it, it seems to split into two duplicate images. He blinks a few times and they merge back into one.

“Are you okay?”

It’s hard for Peter to follow the voice to James’ location. He’s starting to suspect that he’s a little concussed.

“I think so. Are you?”

James nods, but he’s holding his arm at an unnatural angle that suggests he’s not telling the complete truth. “The Captain’s hurt pretty bad though.”

“Shut up, Colonel. I’m fine,” she says through gritted teeth.

She tries to sit up, but immediately winces, grabbing her side. James gently leans her back against the tree she’d been propped against.

“They’re going to come after us,” Peter says. “Mr. Stark’s dad is the pirate from the stories. It’s his treasure.”

A thought pops into Peter’s mind that really should have been there earlier. Maybe he still hasn’t learned the lesson from Tony.

He turns to James. “Did you know he was a pirate?”

“Of course not.” James hangs his head. “His family was rich but I didn’t know how they got their money. It makes sense though, his dad was terrifying.”

Peter sighs, but nods, taking a seat closer to Carol and James.

“I don’t get why he’d want Howard Stark’s treasure. Tony hated the guy.”

“Maybe he just wants the riches,” Peter muses.

“That’s not Tony. The challenge, maybe, but not just for the gold.”

“People change, Rhodes,” Carol mumbles. “I keep trying to tell you. You haven’t known him since the two of you were kids.”

James’ jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything.

Peter walks over to the ship, circling it to assess the damage. The engine is busted, pieces flaking off of it in ribbons. He groans and kicks it.

“I’m going to go look for help or supplies or I don’t know—something.” He stomps past Carol and James into the forest.

James stands. “Peter, we need to stick together.”

“No, we need a place to hide out.” He points at the sky. “Because that ship’s going to come down here. And your old ‘friend’ is going to kill us.”

James’s face folds into a scowl. It fades quickly when Carol starts giggling. It doesn’t sound right coming out of her mouth. Peter doesn’t think anyone would describe Carol as a giggler.

“Old ‘friend’,” she mutters before descending back into laughter.

She’s definitely losing it. Peter and James exchange a look—she needs help, soon.

“Be careful,” James says.

* * *

Peter wanders for a while before he stumbles upon a building. He almost thinks he’s hallucinating it, because everything he’s seen on this planet has been natural—trees, rocks, bushes, dirt. Then, he pushes through some vines, and there it is. The building stands tall, stark white, a sharp contrast to its surroundings. It looks futuristic, an impressive structure with curved lines.

Peter tiptoes over to it, waiting in between each step to glance around warily. When he gets to the door, he brings up his knuckles to rap on it. Just as he moves it forward to knock, the door opens.

“Um.” Peter takes a hesitant step inside. “Hello?”

“Hello.”

Peter jumps back, casting his eyes around for the source of the voice. “Where are you?”

“I’m right here.”

There’s a painting on the wall to the right. The hallway branches off into multiple rooms, in the one directly across from him, he can see a couch that’s the same shade of white as the outside of the house.

“Where?” Peter tries to make his voice sound as intimidating as possible. “Show yourself.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Peter pulls the screwdriver that he used to attack Tony out of his pocket. “Why not?”

“I have no physical form.”

He grips the handle tighter. His knuckles start to turn white. “What happened to it?”

“Nothing. I never had one.”

Peter takes a few more steps down the hallway. He glances in the first room, but there’s nothing there except more white furniture. The next room is the same.

“You got a name?”

“I am Just A Rather Very Intelligent System. You may call me JARVIS.”

“You’re artificial intelligence,” Peter mutters, more to himself than JARVIS.

“Yes. I am sorry if I act a bit odd. I have not interacted with a carbon-based individual in many years. I believe that some of my code may be corrupted.”

“That’s fine,” Peter says, dismissively. He starts rummaging through the chest in one of the rooms for any supplies he can use to fix the ship, or any food or water for Carol.

“What should I call you?”

“I’m, uh, Peter Parker.”

“Hello Mr. Parker.”

Peter doesn’t bother responding. He finds a kitchen and starts going through the cabinets.

“Hello. I am Just A Rather Very Intelligent System. You may call me JARVIS.”

“Yup, you said that.”

“I am sorry. I believe that some of my code may be corrupted.”

“Okay, whatever.”

Peter starts stuffing his pockets with some of the non-perishables in the cabinets, but then stops. He mentally maps the path he took to get from where the ship crashed to this building. Carol should be able to make it, with some help from him and James.

“JARVIS?” 

“Yes?”

“Would you mind if I brought my friends here? We need a place to hide.”

“More visitors?”

“Yup.”

“I—” The AI pauses and there are a few indecipherable sounds, random mechanical syllables. “I believe that some of my code may be corrupted.”

“Okay, then.” Peter gives the house another cursory once over. “I’ll be back with my friends. Please open the door again.”

* * *

JARVIS does open the door when they return. Carol’s propped between Peter and James’ good arm.

“I’m back,” Peter calls. “These are my friends, Carol and James.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Rhodes.”

James’ face goes slack. He releases his grip on Carol and Peter grunts under the added weight. 

“JARVIS?”

“I am Just A Rather Very Intelligent System. You may call me JARVIS.”

James’ brow furrows. “What happened to him?”

“I don’t know.” Peter drags Carol over to the couch in the nearest room. The skin on her face has become blotchy, beads of sweat clinging to her hairline. He doesn’t even have to touch her forehead to feel the heat radiating off of it. 

“I think that some of my code may be corrupted.”

“How do you know the AI?” Peter asks as he dabs at some of the sweat on Carol’s head.

“He’s Tony’s.”

Peter’s hands still above Carol. “What?”

“Tony built JARVIS a few years after we graduated. But, Howard wanted him, so Tony let him have it to help on his—” James glances at Peter. “His voyages.”

“Then why is he here on this random planet? That doesn’t make any sense.” Peter’s eyes widen. “Unless--”

“Open the map,” James demands.

Peter slides it out of his pocket and does the same series of motions that had opened it before. The map fills the room.

They both stare at it for a few moments. Peter covers his mouth.

“We’re here.” James runs a hand over his head. “This is Treasure Planet.”

“But, there’s no treasure here!” 

Peter runs out of the room and through all of the others. They’re the same as the last time he looked through them. He starts uppending cushions from chairs, and books off shelves.

“JARVIS, where is it? Where is the treasure?”

“The door is closed.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter throws his hands in the air. “What door?”

“Shh.” Rhodey snaps at Peter before looking back up at the ceiling. “JARVIS, can you open the door?”

“Sir always found it amusing that you looked up to speak to me, Mr. Rhodes.”

Peter buries his face in his hands and groans in frustration.

“Yeah, he did.” There’s a note of nostalgia in James’ voice. “Do you know how to open the door, J?”

“I believe that some of my code may be corrupted.”

James sighs. “I know, buddy. Can you access any information about doors? Anything Howard might have said?”

“Howar—” JARVIS’ voice becomes garbled and unintelligible again. “I believe that some of my code may be corrupted.”

“Thanks for trying,” James whispers.

“I can’t believe this.” Peter flops onto a chair. “We made it all the way here and now we’re stuck because the stupid AI is broken!”

James shoots Peter an annoyed look.

There’s movement outside the window that Peter just catches in his peripheral vision. He shoves the blinds to the side to get a better look.

Tony and Stane, followed by a few other members of the crew are emerging from the vines of the forest. Stane points to the house and slings an arm around Tony’s shoulder, rustling his hair. 

“They’re here.”

James curses and takes his blaster from his holster, running to the front door. “JARVIS, do not open it.”

“‘S going on,” Carol slurs. She tries to push herself up, but doesn’t even get as far as last time before collapsing back.

“It’s going to be okay,” James tells her.

Peter’s not so sure. Some of the crew is setting up a giant cannon down the hill from the house, aimed at the door.

Stane starts to ascend the hill. Tony’s a few feet behind him. His limp is more pronounced than Peter’s ever seen it. That’s probably his fault.

JARVIS must have retained some ability to follow instructions, because the door doesn’t open for Stane like it had for Peter. The man pounds on the door a couple of times.

“We know you’re in there,” he says. “And I bet you can see that cannon down there. I think it’s in your best interest to come out.”

“Stop—let me.” Tony shoves past Stane. “Petey? Open up. We didn’t get to finish our conversation.”

Peter clenches his fist and glares at Tony through the window. He almost wishes the man would look over to see the anger on his face.

“Rhodes? Rhodey? Let’s talk this out, buddy.”

“Asshole,” James mutters. 

Tony hits his palm on the door.

“Captain Danvers,” he singsongs. “Come on.”

She shifts a little, but doesn’t open her eyes.

“Let’s just blow the place,” Stane says.

Tony heaves a long sigh, letting out the breath slowly. He hisses something to Stane that Peter can’t quite hear. Whatever it is makes Stane back down.

“They can’t shoot down the house,” James says. “They need the map. They can’t risk destroying it. But take Carol to the back room—just in case.”

Peter hoists her over his shoulder and practically drags her down the hallway. James follows, not lowering his gun.

“Open the door!” Desperation colors Tony’s voice now.

James closes his eyes.

“Is that Sir?”

James’ eyelids snap open. “JARVIS don’t—”

There’s a click. The door unlatches and slides open.

Peter grabs his screwdriver again. James trains his blaster at opening. Even Carol manages to sit up, alerted by the fear in James’ voice. She reaches into her holster and props her gun up on her leg.

“Not both,” James says as they step into the hallway. “Only you, Tony.”

“No,” Stane snarls.

“It’s fine,” Tony snaps back at him.

“You’re too weak—”

Tony rounds on him, angling his repulsor at Stane’s face. “I am _not_ weak.”

Stane puts his hands up, a small smirk turning his lips upward. He backs out of the entryway and a few steps down the hill. The door slams shut behind Tony.

“What’s he talking about?” James is looking Tony over. Even after all the betrayal, Peter can see that he cares about him.

“That’s not of your concern,” Tony says cooly.

“Hello, Sir.”

The collected expression melts immediately. Peter can see Tony working the muscles, trying to get it back under control. He wins eventually, but it takes a while.

He ignores the AI completely, keeping his focus on James. “How’d you find JARVIS?”

“I believe that some of my code may be corrupted, Sir. Would you mind taking a look at it?”

Tony’s mouth quirks to one side. He hangs his head and then looks back up. “I’ll get to it soon, J.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Tony resets his jaw. “How did you find him?”

“We happened upon him,” James says, vaguely. “Now explain to me what the fuck you think you’re doing.”

“I want my dad’s treasure.” Tony flexes the fingers of his metallic hand a few times. “Your turn.”

“Peter found the map.’’

“Oh, enough with this ‘Peter found the map’ bullshit! It was _given_ to him. By a man who is now dead!” 

“And who’s fault is that?” Peter sticks his head around the doorframe. “You and your crew killed him! And burnt down my house!”

“Stane’ll give the order to do the same thing to this house very soon, so just give me the map.” Tony starts walking down the hallway, sucking in a sharper breath everytime his puts weight on the prosthetic leg. “It’s rightfully mine.”

James clutches his blaster tighter. “Tones, I don’t want to shoot you.”

He continues down the hallway. “You won’t shoot me.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Peter’s heart hammers in his chest. James’ finger is poised on the trigger, ready to fire at any moment. Some part of Peter still doesn’t want to see Tony die.

“Just give it to me!” There’s a bit of a whine creeping into Tony’s voice. “I need it.”

“Stay back, man!”

A few more steps and Tony’s directly in front of James. James’ hands are steady, but one of his knees bounces as Tony approaches him. He pushes the barrel of the gun into his chest. A sharp clink echoes around the house as it hits the arc reactor.

Tony gasps and stumbles back a few steps. His human hand shields the reactor and the mechanical one extends outward, pointed at James.

“Don’t make me do this.” James takes a step forward.

“Don’t make me,” Tony growls back.

Peter closes his eyes and tries to pretend he’s back home. He imagines that he’s helping May clear the table after dinner. She washes the dishes, and he dries. Neither of them can reach the highest shelf, so they scoot one of the chairs over for Peter to stand on to put the plates away. 

He’d always craved adventure. But, maybe there’s something special about the mundane, too.

“Why do you need the treasure, Tony?”

That’s Carol’s voice. Peter pulls himself out of his fantasy. She’s still leaning back against the sofa and her words are raspy and faint, but her eyes are clear.

Tony lowers his arm. “What?”

“You said you need it. Why?”

Tony sniffs. “That’s a stupid question. It’s the loot of a thousand worlds. Everybody wants it.”

“But why do you _need_ it? You’re not destitute by any means.”

Tony’s eyes flick between the three of them, then over his shoulder back at the door.

“We can help you,” Carol says softly.

James looks back at her. The confusion on his face matches how Peter feels.

Tony’s throat moves as he swallows. His defiant pretense falls so quickly that Peter almost does a double take. His shoulders slump and he curls both arms around his chest.

“There’s something in the stash that can—help me,” he whispers.

“What is it?” James asks.

Tony seems to shrivel even more. “I don’t know.”

James swivels to face Peter and Carol. She holds up a hand, gesturing for him to give Tony time.

“My dad discovered something—an element.” Tony rubs the back of his neck. “He found the last of it and buried it with the rest of his treasure. I don’t know exactly what it looks like or it’s atomic number or anything. But, I need it.”

“Why?”

“It’s the only thing I haven’t tested.”

Carol looks almost as confused as James now, like she had expected this to go a different direction.

But, Tony’s hand is still hovering above the arc reactor and Peter suddenly understands.

“The pieces of metal,” he says. “They’re for the reactor but they’re burning up. It’s killing you, isn’t it?”

Tony stares directly ahead, face completely devoid of emotion. He doesn’t deny it—which confirms it.

James slams the blaster into his holster. “You’re _dying_? Why wouldn’t you tell me? Do you think we would have kept the element from you?”

Tony turns to James without really look at him. Peter thinks he’s focusing on a spot just above his head. He still doesn’t speak. The silence says more than any answer would.

Peter feels all his bitterness toward Tony leaking out of him. Not just because he’s dying (although that is a strong force for speeding up forgiveness), but mostly because it’s a sad way to live, never really trusting anyone. Maybe it’s better to get disappointed every once in a while than to never let anyone in at all.

“How much time do you have?” Carol asks.

James starts pacing. “We need to fix JARVIS so he can open the door.”

The blank expression finally cracks and Tony’s forehead creases. “What door?”

“The gateway to a thousand worlds,” JARVIS supplies.

“Where is it, J? Can you open it?”

“I believe that some of my code may be corrupted.”

“Alright,” Tony says. “Let me fix it.”

He smiles at Peter, almost sheepishly. “Wanna help, kid?”

* * *

Peter doesn’t do much helping. He sits next to Tony while his fingers fly across a holographic keyboard. Neither of them have said a word since James left them to tend to Carol’s wounds.

Peter messes with the flap on one of his boots. He feels Tony glance over from the screen at him.

“What you heard—I didn’t mean what I said.” He looks back at the code as soon as Peter looks up at him. “About you, at least.”

“Okay,” Peter replies.

Tony’s head tilts to the side. “That’s it?”

“No, actually.” Peter sits up straighter. “I’ve got a lesson for you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Peter stands, his chair clattering backwards, and he starts gesturing wildly as he speaks.“ James cares about you. So does Captain Danvers—I think mostly because James does, but still. And I do too, you know! We all would have given you the element if you just asked for it. There’s no point in going through life all closed off because you’re afraid that everyone’s going to screw you over. And all because your dad was an asshole! That’s letting him win! And keeping you from being happy.”

“Is that everything?”

Peter sits down and scoots his chair back in. “I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.”

“I hope you take your own lesson,” Tony says. “You’re out here, searching the stars, like it’ll give you back your uncle, or your parents. It won’t. But, you’ve already got people, Pete. Your aunt and James were there for you the whole time. You were just too wrapped up in your own head to see it.”

Peter mulls over the words in his head. They may have some merit. 

He shoves his shoulder into Tony’s. Tony shoves him back. 

* * *

“The treasure is at the planet’s core,” JARVIS says. “It’s heavily guarded. There are deterrents to keep out trespassers. Mr. Stark kept most of the details from even me.”

James paces the length of the room, stopping to run a hand through Carol’s hair on the way. She offers him a wane smile.

Peter’s perched by the window, watching Stane outside. He doesn’t understand why Tony places trust in him of all people. He can’t exactly voice those thoughts after his earlier speech.

“How do we get to the planet’s core?” Tony asks.

“There’s a portal in the basement. It can take you to any location across the universe.”

“The gateway to a thousand worlds.” James shake his head in wonderment.

“Damn,” Tony says. “Dad created that?”

“He stole it.”

“Ah, I see. For some reason, that makes me feel better.” Tony turns to the rest of the room. “Obie will torch the place if I don’t let him in. Everyone good with that?”

Peter’s not. He notices that James grimaces a little too, but neither of them speak up, so Tony tells JARVIS to open the door.

Some of the eagerness fades out of Stane’s eyes the minute he sees Peter, James, and Carol.

“What’s going on,” he says, cautiously.

Tony summarizes the situation—the location of the treasure at the planet’s core, JARVIS’ insight into the portal in the basement, the supposed booby-traps that JARVIS suspects protect the stash.

“The treasure’s Peter’s.” Tony’s voice is harsh, ready for a fight. “But they’re going to give me the element.”

Stane tilts his head back to look at the ceiling. Then he runs his hands over his face, ending with a temple massage.

“Tony,” he says, exasperated. “Tony, Tony, Tony.”

He walks over and grabs Tony’s shoulder to pull him close. His fingers dig into Tony’s skin enough that he winces slightly.

“We’re _pirates_ ,” Stane hisses. “We take the treasure, that’s our whole gig. And this is your father’s _legacy_.”

James leans forward, watching the exchange carefully. His hand goes to his gun. 

“It’s just gold, Obie,” Tony says, firm and final. “We’ve stolen plenty of it before.”

Stane’s face twists up with anger. He takes a deep breath and it relaxes again. “How are we going to pay the crew for this mission then? Have you thought of that?”

“I can pay them,” Peter says. “I mean, if this loot is as big as they say, I can definitely afford it.”

Stane clenches his fist. He sends Peter a—well, it’s a smile, by definition. His mouth is curved upward, but his teeth seem more barred than anything else. Peter wouldn’t be surprised if they transformed into fangs.

“There you go!” Tony grins and claps Stane on the back before pulling away.

“Very well.” Stane’s eyes shift around to each person in the room. “Let’s see this portal.”

They traipse down the stairs, single-file, with Tony and Stane leading the pack, Peter then James behind them.

Stane stops abruptly when they’re about halfway down. “Wait. If this thing is really booby-trapped. We should get the rest of the crew. There’s strength in numbers. And the more hands to carry the treasure out with, the better.”

“Okay.” There’s absolutely no trust in James’ voice.

“Why don’t you two go grab them?” Stane gestures to Peter and James. “We’ll get started on opening the portal.”

“No way!”

Peter has to agree with James. He doesn’t think it’s wise to leave them alone with the treasure—or not even that. He’s not sure if it’s good to leave Stane with Tony.

“Why doesn’t Peter just go?”

“I’m just afraid that they’d shoot the poor boy on sight. With the two of you—well you could look out for each other.”

“It’s fine, guys. Trust me.” Tony gives Peter a pointed look. “We’re not going to run off with your treasure.”

Peter tries to convey that the treasure isn't what he's worried about with a look. Tony doesn't seem to get the message.

“Up you go,” Stane adds.

James huffs and gestures for Peter to follow him. Once they get up the stairs, James starts walking faster. 

“Something’s off. We need to get back down there.”

It’s easy to get the crew inside with the promise of treasure. They just don't mention who they'll be carrying the treasure out for.

Peter can see from the top of the stairs that they were successful in opening the portal. It’s a giant triangle, and through the triangle is gold as far as Peter can see. He feels like a kid again, turning through the pages of his picture book.

James curses and breaks into a sprint, hopping down multiple stairs at a time. It doesn’t take long for Peter to realize why.

There’s only one figure in front of the portal. And it’s lying flat on the ground.

Peter flies down the rest of the staircase and slides into a crouch next to James.

The rest of the pirates run around them, squealing with delight, into the core of the planet.

Tony’s slumped on the ground, face nearly blue. His eyes bulge out at them and dart around, but he can’t seem to move otherwise.

“The thing in his chest—it’s gone.” James’ hand floats above space where it should be. “Do you know what it does?”

“T-there’s shrapnel.” Peter peers into the gaping hole. It’s deeper than he thought it would be. “The arc reactor keeps it from getting to his heart.”

James slams a fist down next to Tony’s head. “Then we don’t have a lot of time. Do you think he has more on the ship?”

There was the blue cylinder. He’d seen it on Tony’s desk, then next to the charred metal cartridges in the closet. Looking at the socket where the reactor goes, he can tell that the cylinder would fit there. It must be a reactor.

“In the supply closet.”

James jumps up. “I’m going back.”

“Wait! He needs the new element, too.”

James looks torn for a moment. Then he crouches back down, puts his hands on Peter’s shoulders. 

“Go find it,” he says.

“I can’t—how will I know what it is? Tony doesn’t even know what it looks like. And Stane’s in there. I-I don’t know what to do.”

James squeezes his shoulders. “You’re smart, Peter. You’ve got this. You’ve _got_ this.”

Peter nods, slowly at first, but then faster, more sure.

“Go. I believe in you.”

It’s not the first time that James has said that to him, but it’s the first time that Peter believes it.

James gets up and moves for the stairs.

“Hold on,” Peter says.

Their problem is the distance. Peter knows a way they can cut James’ journey in half. 

He pokes the hologram that controls the location of the portal until it shows the ship.

“Through here!”

“You’re brilliant, kid.”

Peter switches the portal back to the core as soon as James crosses through it. He immediately ducks as fire shoots toward him. He stands back up slowly, mouth dropping in dismay as he takes in the state of the region beyond the portal.

Parts of it are exploding, other’s collapsing and sinking. Gold coins and jewels are falling into pits of lava. There’s fire everywhere.

“I tried to warn you that there would be deterrents,” JARVIS says.

Peter’s starting to really hate Howard Stark.

He looks around the basement. There’s machinery everywhere, disassembled parts. He hones in on an engine sitting on a table.

He unscrews the legs from the table top, and attaches the engine to it with some wires, fashions a pedal out of some scraps.

He steps back and looks at his work, satisfied. It’s a makeshift solar surfer—without the sail, but it’ll have to do.

He hauls it over to the portal and looks down at Tony’s still body. Even his eyes are closed now.

“You’re going to be okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter promises. 

He throws the board through the portal and hops onto it. He shoves his heel back onto the pedal and cheers when the engine ignites.

Columns of fire burst up from the ground at random intervals. Peter zips around them, and piles of treasure, searching for anything that isn’t gold. He prays that the element isn’t any form of yellow.

There’s something blue—it’s small. The air is waver so much from the heat that Peter almost misses it. The color reminds Peter of the arc reactor, of the color of Tony’s left eye.

He decides that means something. He pushes down hard on the pedal.

And then something hits him. He’s thrown off the board, scrambles for purchase on a heap of gold that is quickly collapsing. He finds a grip on some piece of treasure that’s lodged tight into the platform.

Boots walk into his vision. He looks up and is greeted by Stane’s face, leering down at him.

“I just want the element.” Peter scrabbles to pull himself up, muscles in his arms pulling taught. He kicks out with his feet to try to find something to push off on. “Please. I know you’re mad that Tony was going to let me have the treasure, but you care about him. You want him to live.”

“You’re both so stupid.” Stane unsheathes a machete from his waistband. “Who do you think hired the people who captured Tony? God, they were idiots, too.”

“No, no—he said you look after him. Please.”

The lava is rising fast. Peter can feel the heat increasing near his feet. He holds up a hand to Stane.

Stane raises the machete. “You won’t be the first person I cut off this week.”

Peter gasps. He pictures the empty life-line post and Fury’s eyepatch in Stane’s hands

“At least you’ll die knowing that wasn’t your fault.” Stane starts to bring the machete down.

Peter shoves his head down so he won’t have to see it. Gold coins dig into his cheeks. One of them could rebuild May’s house. He wishes he could teleport it to her somehow.

The machete never comes down.

Instead, a hand grips his right wrist. Another one, this time metal, grabs his other one. He gets hauled to the top of the mound. 

“You okay, kid?”

Peter hesitantly cracks his eyes open, half afraid that they’ll prove his good fortune wrong.

But, it is Tony. He looks like he’s seen better days. There are dark circle etched under his eyes, and his pallor is a deathly gray, but there’s an arc reactor securely locked in his chest.

James is behind him, his blaster still smoking. Stane is crumpled on the ground between them, unmoving.

“We need to get the element.” Peter points to the blue glowy stuff. “I think it’s that.”

“No, we need to get out of here. And off the planet. The whole thing is going to collapse.”

“But you need it!”

Tony shrugs and smiles a little sadly. “I’ll have to find something else.”

James steps forward. “You said you’d tried everything.”

While they start bickering, Peter formulates a plan. The structure with the (hopefully) new element on it is starting to sink into the lava so he needs to move fast. His makeshift solar surfer had fallen farther than he had. It’s sitting on a ledge about 15 feet under them.

Peter jumps. He hears James and Tony start to shout at him, but he ignores them.

He grabs the board, tightens the wire around the engine and then throws it into the air as he leaps into it. He reaches back with his foot and presses the pedal.

The engine doesn’t starts. For a terrifying moment, he’s freefalling, the lava uncomfortably close. He jabs his foot back a few more times. On the fourth, the engine sputters. On the fifth, it roars to life.

He zooms back up past James and Tony—who both look simultaneously awed and dismayed. Peter pumps a fist in the air.

He swings by the container with the glowy blue stuff and shoves it under his shoulder.

“Hop on,” he calls as he passes James and Tony. 

They zip out of the portal, but the situation isn’t much better on the other side. The whole planet is shaking as it’s core erupts.

“We’re not going to make it,” Tony says. 

“We’re fine,” James says. “Let me get Carol. Peter knows what to do.”

He leaves, walking up the stairs at an almost leisurely place. 

Tony turns to Peter. “What is he talking about?”

Peter blinks around rapidly. The adrenaline that allowed him to get to the element is fading, leaving his mind scattered with panic. He can’t think straight.

“I believe Mr. Rhodes is talking about the portal,” JARVIS says.

“Right.” Peter turns and starts jabbing at the hologram next to it, trying to find the spaceport. His hands won’t stop trembling.

“I got it, Pete.” Tony gently pushes Peter’s hands out of the way and navigates to the spaceport himself.

There are footsteps on the stairs. Peter looks back and James and Carol are making their way back down. She’s still heavily leaning on him, but Peter thinks she looks better than she had before. DUM-E and a bunch of other bots are behind them.

Tony raises an eyebrow.

James shrugs. “I wasn’t going to leave them on the ship when they tried to follow me off.”

“Sap,” Tony says, and then his eyes widen. “Okay, give me thirty seconds.” He runs over to the computer he’d used earlier when he fixed JARVIS.

“Make it a quick thirty seconds, Stark,” Carol says.

He salutes and plugs a drive into one of the ports before starting to type. 

“I’m not losing you again, J,” he says softly.

“Thank you, Sir,” JARVIS says.

James coughs. “Sap.”

Tony holds up his red middle finger and keeps typing with his other hand.

He pulls the drive out minutes later and pockets it, half-jogging over to the rest of them. James nods and tightens his grip around Carol.

They step through the portal. Countless heads of spaceport travelers turn as explosions ring out behind them.

Tony turns to Peter. “What was that you were telling me about trust? Because it kind of feels like I just got betrayed by the man who raised me.” 

Peter shakes his head and sags into his side.

* * *

“Come back to Montressor with us.”

Tony rolls himself out from under the ship he’d bought a few days after they arrived back on the spaceport. It’s an old one, in need of lots of repairs. Peter thinks that Tony likes that.

He doesn’t stand up, but he reaches into his pocket. His hand comes out with a cluster of jewels and gold. He holds it out to Peter.

“I grabbed a few things,” he says. “This should cover your aunt’s house, and a little extra.”

“Mr. Stark, I can’t.”

“Take it,” Tony insists. “Or Rhodey will.”

Peter grabs it, shuffles the treasure in his hands for a few seconds before sticking it deep into his own pocket.

“Come back to Montressor with us,” he repeats.

“I’m not a good person, Pete. The things I’ve done—” Tony trails off. “I belong up in the stars anyway.”

“So do I,” Peter protests. “So do James and Carol but they’re still coming. You don’t have to stay permanently. It could just be a place where you—I don’t know—touch down every once in a while. I’m sure May would let you stay with us.”

Tony laughs. “I’m not sure if that’s my style.”

Peter grabs the wrench from his hand so that he’ll stop working and look at Peter. “Then, let me set sail with you. There’s nothing for me on Montressor, anyway.” 

Tony snatches the wrench back with a mock-glare that dissolves into a grin.

“Just make it the place you touch down every once in a while then,” he parrots back. “I can’t take you away from your aunt, kid. As much as I could use a competent cabin-boy.”

“I would definitely be your pilot.”

“It doesn’t matter, because you’re _definitely_ going home. And then you’re going to get your grades up, get into an Academy program, become a legendary spacer, and maybe one day we’ll pass each other out in open space.”

Peter crosses his arms. “Is that what’s going to happen?”

“Yup.” Tony taps near his mechanical eye. “This one sees the future.”

“Well.” Peter shuffles in place, kicking some dust up. “I’ll miss you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony just hums, face completely blank. He rolls back under the ship.

Peter watches his hands move for a few minutes before lowering his head and walking away.

* * *

“He’s a piece of work,” James says. “I can’t believe he’s going out there _alone._ He doesn’t even know if the new element is a permanent solution.”

“He said it was,” Carol replies.

“How does he know that?”

“He’s a genius, James.” She reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck. “Stop worrying.”

Their new ship is all ready to take off, course set for Montressor. Peter stands on the deck, leaning over the edge of the boat to take in his last glimpses of the spaceport—for now. He does hope to come back some day. Maybe join the Academy like Tony had suggested. He could become a Captain. Carol would probably put in a good word for him.

He rests his head on his hands, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. The air is different here. Peter still feels drawn to it—the bustling sense of adventure, the chance to escape into the unknown. But, it’s not as pressing as it had been when he first left home. He’s ready to go back for a while. He misses May.

When he opens his eyes, there’s someone running down the way. Peter squints. It almost looks like there’s something chasing the guy—or multiple things. They look like bots. He does a double-take.

“Hold up,” he yells to James and Carol.

As the man gets closer, he starts to wave his hands around. One is red. 

“Mr. Stark?”

“Wait,” he yells. “Stop the ship!”

“It’s not even moving,” Carol mumbles under her breath. “Idiot.”

“You just called him a genius,” James points out.

“He can be both. He’s definitely both.”

Tony runs up the ramp. There’s not any sort of limp in his stride. The bots whir and beep behind him. Peter meets them at the top.

Tony’s out of breath, but he’s smiling. “You said Montressor has a room for me, right?”

“Well, we have to rebuild the house first, but—”

“Perfect.”

“You’re—you’re coming with us?”

Tony pats Peter on the back as he passes him. “Maybe it’s time for both of us to try something new—stop getting lost in the stars for a while.”

“Yeah,” Peter whispers.

“You’re messing with my schedule, Stark,” Carol shouts. “But, nice to have you back on board.”

“Took you long enough,” James adds.

DUM-E starts butting against Peter’s leg. There’s a ball in his claw-hand. Peter takes it.

“C’mon Pete.” Tony’s standing at the top of the stairs down to the lower levels of the ship, toolkit in hand. “It shouldn’t be a long journey to Montressor, but we could probably whip up a friend for DUM-E to play fetch with.”

“Be right there.”

Peter turns around. He takes one last look at the spaceport, memorizing the outlines of ships against the dark sky. Then he turns around and follows Tony down the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Find me on [tumblr!](https://peterparkrr.tumblr.com)


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